Burger Kings article

Burger Kings

An Impassioned Tour of LA’s Historic Burger Joints

Southwest Spirit Magazine | December 2005

by Danny Evans

Pity the poor hamburger. It has taken a severe beating.

Walk into your office with a hamburger nowadays and your colleagues are likely to look at you like you just slapped your mama. Summer, the rail-thin Pilates freak in the next cubicle over, has been known to run screaming from the building at the very sight of anything not made of soy protein and organically grown flax seeds. Why the full-fledged rebellion? Because even as the American commuter culture has been spawning an endless horizon of fast food joints, the once-revered pastime of enjoying a hamburger (as opposed to merely consuming one) has vanished. The processed, grayish-brown paste that passes for lunch at the drive-thru has demonized the burger and made it the world’s favorite edible scapegoat. Porky children. Rampant arterial chaos. Mad cow disease. Yep, it’s all the burger’s fault.

But eating a hamburger hasn’t always been tantamount to self-inflicted harm. In fact, 1950s-era Los Angeles experienced a hamburger heyday. Quaint little burger stands peppered the landscape and made burgers the edible icon of 20th Century America. Thankfully, despite the aforementioned McVilification, a carnivorous L.A. subculture has seen to it that many of the city’s old burger stands keep their signs alight and their legendary greasebombs blissfully available.

Shack Burger
The Shack, Playa Del Rey
A common practice at L.A.’s old burger joints is adding something on top of the burger patty that one wouldn’t normally expect – ham, pastrami, a fried egg, avocado. But The Shack tops them all. The sunscreen-lathered, sand-speckled locals flip-flop in from the nearby beach to order the famed Shack Burger: a quarter-pound burger with the usual fixings, crowned with a grilled, spicy Louisiana sausage. This is sweetly affirming evidence that even in the high-end, beach-front area just northwest of L.A. International Airport, not everything must be Zone-friendly or low fat. And in stark contrast to The Apple Pan (see below), the grill staff is an army of tanned teens, presumably earning money for beer and surf wax.

The aged wood and aluminum interior of The Shack has clearly seen its share of hard years, but the Shack Burger itself is pure burger bliss. The bun smells practically fresh baked – toasted, but not burned. I lift the top bun and see the sausage, butterflied and flecked with color. The first heavenly bite unleashes a crisp snap from the sausage and a delayed rush of heat from the spices inside. The onions are just strong enough and the bun tastes as good as it smells.

Since Shaquille O’Neal was traded by the Lakers this summer, let’s go ahead and say it: This is the best Shack in L.A. There simply isn’t a better burger in the city.

185 Culver Blvd., Playa Del Rey, CA, (310) 823-6222

Cardiac Burger
The Bucket, Eagle Rock
You can usually judge the quality of a burger by that fullness-induced coma that develops when you’ve devoured it. But at The Bucket, a faded wooden structure just east of Dodger Stadium, it appears they’re not happy unless your satisfaction escalates into someone holding defibrillator paddles to your chest and hollering, “Clear!”

The Bucket’s big draw is the perfectly named Cardiac Burger: double meat, double cheese, grilled onions, mushrooms, bacon, ham, mayo, lettuce, tomato and pickles. The menu brags that this burger is “guaranteed to flatline” and doesn’t shy away from the fact that you may not survive long enough to pay the check.

The perpetrator arrives five inches high, on a paper plate with a fork and knife (which you’ll need unless you can unhook your jaw from your skull). It’s massive, by far the tallest and fattest burger I’ve seen. Sitting in its shadow, I fantasize that this is how Evil Kinevil felt before jumping over the Snake River on a motorcycle: I know it can be done, but the landing is going to hurt like hell.

I go for it. The meat is moist and the bacon is crispy. The onions are a little over-grilled, but let’s be frank: the taste and texture of a Cardiac Burger is an afterthought to the rush of actually finishing one. The end result is a combination of self-satisfaction, self-disgust and angina.

The Bucket, 4541 Eagle Rock Blvd., Eagle Rock, CA (323) 257-5654

Chili Cheeseburger
The Original Tommy’s, Los Angeles
Tommy’s is a Los Angeles institution and, if you ask many Angelinos, home of the best hamburger in the city. For 58 years, the tiny, red-shake-roofed landmark on the corner of Rampart and Beverly has produced burgers so delicious and so beautifully messy it’s become trendy to go there and pig out. Tommy’s secret is a mildly spicy, lightly textured chili and an extra thick slice of American cheese – a combination that, when consumed, moves burger connoisseurs to a state resembling rapture. Watch someone bite into a “Tommyburger” and you are likely to witness a physical reaction.

Don’t expect much in the way of ambiance here. Eating at Tommy’s is something of a business proposition. The parking lot is lined with counters at chest height and mounted paper towel holders. You’ll eat standing up, which is strategically brilliant given the highly likely event of chili spillage. The environment creates a vacuum for table manners and gives eating at Tommy’s a serious “fun factor.” What’s more, a double-cheeseburger (chili comes standard) costs only $2.75. Tommy’s is open 24 hours a day.

2575 W. Beverly Blvd., Los Angeles, (213) 389-9060 [there are numerous Tommy’s locations throughout Los Angeles, but this is the original], www.originaltommys.com

Marty’s Combo
Marty’s, West Los Angeles
Blink and you’ll miss Marty’s. Sandwiched appropriately between a gas station and L.A. Fire Station 92, Marty’s is little more than a small box with a moderately sized sign, barely visible on busy Pico Boulevard. I walk up to the order window and squint through a cloud of bacon-scented smoke to see the menu. The expansive Marty’s grill sizzles right behind the open-air window, and the smell is sweet. For a lot of guys, there are three scents that make the knees weak: freshly cut grass, freshly grilled meat and freshly applied perfume on the neck of a beautiful woman.

But I digress.

If word of mouth is any indication, your order at Marty’s is practically predetermined. Go for the Marty’s Combo: a well-portioned cheeseburger with a butterflied and grilled Vienna hot dog on top. A smaller, less expensive take on the Shack Burger, this tasty morsel provides that same satisfying snap with each bite. The pungent flavor of the hot dog and the zing from a strong, raw onion linger long after you’ve swallowed it.

10558 W. Pico Blvd., West Los Angeles, CA, (310) 836-6944

Hickoryburger
The Apple Pan, West L.A.
A creaky wooden shack almost defiantly situated directly across Pico Boulevard from the contemporary Westside Pavilion shopping mall, The Apple Pan door opens into a time warp. Wood paneling, old-fashioned, punch-button cash registers and the same Formica countertop where Angelinos have bellied-up for lunch since the 50s.

Even the wait staff is antique. I grab a seat at the long, U-shaped counter and a balding, mustached man ambles over and touches the tip of his pencil to his tongue. He doesn’t make eye contact, but I know he’s talking to me.

“Order?” he barks.

“Hickoryburger.”

“Cheese?”

“Yep.”

“Fries?”

“Yep.”

“Coke?”

“Diet.”

“Right away.”

As the old guy walks away and clips my order ticket to the spinning metal wheel near the grill, I realize that I just ordered lunch with four words. My waiter is a polished burger professional and a man of the cloth (albeit grease-stained) in this hallowed and ancient (by L.A.’s standards) burger temple. He is efficient, but not rude. He is focused. He respects the burger as I do. I want to hug him.

Sadly, the burger he delivers in a white waxed-paper wrapper is painfully average. The menu mentions some kind of secret, proprietary Apple Pan sauce, but I taste only a relishy, ketchupy barbecue sauce. The burger is about as thick as my ATM card and there is three times more lettuce than meat. I see the rows of fresh-baked apple pies (the namesake of The Apple Pan) lined up on the back counter, but I pass.

10801 W. Pico Blvd., Los Angeles, CA, (310) 475-3585

Chili Cheeseburger
Carney’s, Studio City
Converted from a 1938 Santa Fe railroad dining car, Carney’s is not easy to miss, even from a street as busy as Ventura Boulevard. Painted bright canary yellow and fire engine red, Carney’s lacks in the old-fashioned feel of other old L.A. burger joints, but it compensates with curb appeal. Inside, black-and-white photographs document the engine’s journey from the railways to its current home, where it holds court as the best burger spot in L.A.’s San Fernando Valley (there is a second Carney’s location on Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood).

The draw at Carney’s is the chili. The chili cheeseburger is piping hot, although rather small. The chili is not at all spicy, but Carney’s is expert at one of the lost arts of burger-making: using just the right amount of mustard to make the chopped onions adhere to the top bun without losing their crunch. Six or seven bites are about all it takes to devour a Carney’s chili cheeseburger, just long enough to sit outside, enjoy the smoggy Valley air and ogle the pricey hilltop homes across the street.

12601 Ventura Blvd., Studio City, CA, (310) 761-8300; 8351 Sunset Blvd., West Hollywood, CA, (323) 654-8300, www.carneytrain.com

Cheeseburger
Cassell’s, Los Angeles
Cassell’s is the restaurant version of the typical summer blockbuster movie: bigger and louder, but not necessarily better. The window on its downtown Los Angeles storefront screams in bright red, “World’s Best Hamburger.” The walls inside the cavernous, cafeteria-style dining room are plastered with restaurant review braggadocio supporting the claim made on the window. One framed review, from the October 1972 issue of Oui, proclaims that Cassell’s offers “…the best burger you can buy in the world. (It is theoretically possible to produce a better one – by chopping up a piece of filet mignon, for example – but not at a price most people can afford.)”

The lesson from this? Never trust a food review from a pornography magazine, especially one older than most of the people who work at the restaurant. While Cassell’s certainly offers the largest burger among L.A.’s old burger joints (roughly five inches in diameter), it is certainly not the best. The dominant flavor in the first bite is that of a mass-produced hamburger bun; the meat itself is practically tasteless. While a buffet-like span of condiments is available – including huge slices of massive tomatoes and onions – piling them on merely camouflages the fact that Cassell’s now offers a shadow of its well-documented, formerly “world’s best” product.

3266 W. 6th Street, Downtown Los Angeles, (213) 480-8668

Pastrami Burger
Astro Burger, West Hollywood
Contrary to what its name might imply, Astro Burger has nothing to do with space. Its 50s-inspired interior is more emblematic of Laverne & Shirley than The Jetsons. There is no particular “signature” burger at Astro Burger, in part because of its extensive and rather unwieldy burger selection.

“What’s the best burger on the menu?” I ask the young, blonde cashier.

“That depends,” she says through a faint Russian accent. “What do you like?”

“I like meat.”

“Meat…” she says, calculating. “Well, then you’ll probably like our pastrami burger.”

The words hit my gut like a bowling ball. Pastrami? On a hamburger? Is that legal?

It takes quite awhile, but the pastrami burger is finally served in a red plastic basket with a stack of pastrami three-times taller than the burger patty itself. The first bite doesn’t meet my great anticipation. It takes roughly 30 chews to degrade the food to swallowability, and the culprit is its pastrami-like substance. The concoction is dry and bland and drenched in Thousand Island dressing, the archenemy of burger-lovers. I take a couple more bites and quit when a gaggle of squealing teenaged girls with expensive purses and heavy eye makeup sit down in the booth behind me. I’ve had enough and I decide to get my Astro out of here.

7475 Santa Monica Blvd., West Hollywood, CA, (323) 874-8041